He swung the door wide and entered. She was, as usual, sitting in the little rocker under the light and beside the bureau, between the bed and the window. The neat, fragrant room seemed to be sleeping, but the clear-eyed, upright woman was very much awake. She glanced up from her sewing and realized intuitively that at last the crisis had come. His big, homely face was a bald advertisement of his boyish excitement. She nodded, and murmured, "Well!" He drew up a chair awkwardly, and sat opposite her, tilting back to accommodate his sprawling length. Then he was at a loss. "Well," he muttered, trying to be careless, "how are you?" "All right," she said drily. She could not help him, though her heart was beginning to pain in her side. "I've been walking about the Park," he began again, with an indifference that was full of leaks, "and thinking...." He leaned forward and spoke suddenly: "Say, mother, don't you get tired of living in this place?" She felt strangely excited, but answered guardedly. "It isn't so bad, Joe.... There are a few decent people ... there's Miss Gardiner, the librarian ... and I have books and sewing." "Oh, I know," he went on, clumsily, "but you're alone a lot." "Yes, I am," she said, and all at once she felt that she could speak no further with him. She began sewing diligently. "Say, mother!" No answer. "Mother!" "Yes," dimly. His voice sounded unnatural. "Since the ... fire ... I've been doing some thinking, some reading...." "Yes." "I've been going about ... studying the city...." "Yes." "Now I want you to understand, mother.... I want to tell you of ... It's--well, I want to do something with my money, my life...." And his voice broke, in spite of himself. His mother felt as if she were smothering. But she waited, and he went on: "For those dead girls, mother...." and sharply came a dry sob. "And for all the toilers. Oh, but can you understand?" There was a silence. Then she looked at him from her youthful, brilliant eyes, and saw only an overgrown, rather ignorant boy. This gave her strength, and, though it was painful, she began speaking: "_Understand_? Do you mean the books you are reading?" "Yes," he murmured. "Well," she smiled weakly, "I've been reading them, too." "_You_!" He was shocked. He looked at her as if she had revealed a new woman to him. "Yes," she said, quickly. "I found them in your room." He was amazedly silent. He felt then that he had never really known his mother. "Joe," she said, tremulously, "I want to tell you a little about the war.... There are things I haven't told you."